Cemetery Pond - Place Prompt #2

Thursday, January 26, 2012 - 12:33 PM - 39 degrees - cloudy and drizzling

I visit Homewood Cemetery again, and since I had a general overview at my last visit, I decide to direct my attention to one small area to keep my writing more focused and concise. When driving past the length of the cemetery iron fence on my way to the entrance, I notice a large, grassy field. I want to take a look at it, so that's where I aim when I arrive.

However, on the way towards the field, another, smaller area catches my eye. It is perfect, and I know it is what I will write about today. In the center of three converging lanes, there is a small pond surrounded by flat, wide rocks, grass, and bushes and small trees. Obviously a man-made preserve, the pond has an eerie, whitish glaze to its surface which I can't define from where I am standing. All I know is that, in the misty grey day, it is a rather gothic nature scene.

The rocks remind me of river rocks, the kind I've used to get to the center of the Congaree River and sun myself on in South Carolina. But whoever made this place created a strange structure with some of them in the middle of the water.

From the edge of the water, my attention is drawn again to the milky coating on its surface. I realize the pond is mostly frozen. While others in the area might not be surprised, I've never seen more than a small puddle frozen, so this is an entirely new sight for my Southern eyes! I really love the gradations of the ice-- the very edge of the pond is still water, a foot or so in is a thin layer of ice, and in the middle, the ice is thick and sturdy. I know because I precariously balance on a rock to reach out and touch it! But it is also interesting to imagine the state of things below the surface, where the water is still liquid, where dead brown maple leaves, dark gooey silt, and hydrophilic flora are trapped.

I take time to notice small details of the place, particularly in regards to the rain (my favorite weather): the sound of it all around me, its discordant pattern like fingers on my body, the precarious droplets clinging to the bright Red Twig Dogwood bushes, naked of their leaves.

Moss abounds on the damp surface of the rocks. I see a strange variety which is dark green and has red hair-like structures growing tall out of it. They look almost prickly, like spines on a porcupine.

A tangled vine-like bush with candied-apple-red berries seems to choke the surrounding plants. These same berries tumble over the elevated edge of the pond on one side, creating a waterfall of color.

A single specimen of a very odd plant grows out from the dark depths between several rocks (which I have taken a liking to peering in). I have no idea what it is, but it looks like someone planted dried star-like flowers which have shriveled into dark brown curlicues with wheat-colored tips. I love it.

Finally, three Japanese Red Maple trees contort themselves to one side of the pond. I know them because of one which is on the Chatham campus, labeled, which bursts into red-orange-yellow flame each fall as senescence occurs befores the leaves fall off. (The first picture in this post, the uber-gothic vision of this pond-place, also showcases one of these trees, which I have fallen in love with since my first fall at Chatham.)

I also have a revelation. This cemetery, this place of the dead, is also a haven for life, for animals! I hear birds chirping (though I don't see any and can't identify their calls). I find deer tracks in the mud around the shore of the pond, two triangular toe-prints elongated in the slippery suction of the saturated ground. (I take pictures of these tracks, only to discover when I transfer the files to my computer that they are somehow missing. I still don't know what happened to them!) Along with the prints is another clue-- an abundance of piles of berry-shaped deer feces.

My last visit to the cemetery was quiet and lonely. This one showcases livelier sounds and the existence of others besides myself. I am really excited to discover that, in the middle of this bustling city, in between three rivers, somehow deer flourish in this little sanctuary. Despite all the odds-- the traffic, the concrete, the selfish and unconcerned humans going about their daily lives, the lack of shelter, the skyscrapers upon apartment buildings upon stores, bars, clubs and all-- these deer have found a way to survive. I wonder how they got here (did they swim across a river or just trot through Fort Pitt Tunnel and over Fort Pitt Birdge?!). Regardless, I am relieved they did. It brings me hope in the hardiness of nature.

I am also entranced by the change in the usual dynamics between humans and nature. Though this place was created by humans, it is not they who subsist here. Instead, plants and animals survive off of the decay human remains rather than vice versa. It seems almost ironic, and I enjoy the thought. "Take that, humanity!" I exclaim to myself. And again, I recognize the absolute necessity of decay in sustaining life.

(**Author's Note: These days, with humans being buried in much more durable caskets made out of materials which do not break down, our remains are apt to rot without giving back to the soil. I realize this, but have chosen to let my imagination run free and ponder many different aspects to this place! And who knows-- some of these graves are so old that they might have once contained plain wooden coffins which have broken down along with their human contents, and thus the giving of life from our deaths...)

I love this place, this sanctuary, and I long to come back before I've even left, just from thinking about leaving. I am soothed here. I feel I can breathe deeply and unwind, here, in the middle of a city, in my own little bit of seclusion. I will return.